


These Cold Stones Keep Our Stories

by Fireway



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Post battle of Winterfell, Too bad got ended after ep 8x03, give me gendrya or give me death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-02-15 20:15:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18676678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fireway/pseuds/Fireway
Summary: After the Battle of Winterfell, after Arya had stabbed her dagger to the ancient King, she had to find her family, make sure the people she loved were alive.Canon-divergence after 8x03.Rating may change.





	1. Alive

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!  
> This is mostly my unbetaed, mindless and unplanned fluff made in 5 hours at 2am with just energy drinks and procrastination running in my veins. Also kind of a way to vent all of my hopes and dreams out before they kill off every character I love in the next 3 episodes. English isn't my first language and I haven't written fics in it in 4+ years, and this is my very first GoT fic overall. But I really, really hope you like it!

* * *

 

             Arya thought she had gotten used to Death. Death was constant and took away people with no mercy, yet all her years surrounded by agonizing fear of getting attached to anyone for they could be ripped away any second – like Robb, or like the people she had killed, hardly thinking about their lives outside her own vengeance or need. But nothing had prepared for the slaughter that was the Battle of Winterfell. The foul smell of death, the smoke, shit and blood mixing together made her skin crawl, for she knew there was nowhere she could hide, and the longest baths wouldn’t wash it away, for the smell had tainted her home.

 

Arya took in a deep breath, slowly putting the dagger onto her hip, only then realizing her hands were shaking. Her dark eyes followed her wrists to the bloody fingertips, then to the ground where the Night King had stood just a few moments ago, and then up to Bran. Bran hadn’t said anything, and didn’t even as Arya’s feet moved for the first time in a while, as she started walking towards the exit of the Godswood. On her way she saw Theon – his face was thing and hair wild, but she saw the boy she had grown up with, the one who eventually betrayed the Starks and then finally realized where his loyalties lied; just to protect his home and family to his dying breath. Arya didn’t stop, though – she had to continue, she had to find her family. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing anyone else. _Her pack had to be alive_.

 

Arya walked through the muddy courtyard, catching a glimpse of Jon, who was surrounded by people, barking orders – yet their eyes met, Arya nodding to him slowly. She didn’t have time for chatting, and on the other hand, now that the winter wasn’t going to take them out any second, they would have time to talk. Now she needed to make sure everyone was alright. Only two more to go, Arya told herself. It looked like Jon wanted to say something, to come up to her, but she didn’t give him a choice as she disappeared inside, eyes glancing at the hundreds of bodies, ash and blood covering the dead. Arya found too many familiar eyes looking back at her, but not the pair of blue ones she feared she would find. Once her eyes stopped at a familiar-seeming body, and Arya already braced herself to lose the man she had laid with just a few hours prior but was relieved as it wasn’t Gendry.

Arya made her way towards the forge, peeking her head around the corner, a sound somewhere in-between a gasp and a husky laughter escaping her mouth. There he was; Gendry, carrying two battle axes of glistening dragon glass towards a pile of bloodied weapons, his armour off and the simple shirt bloodied and ripped, dried blood covering his hands and face as well. Gendry spun around as he heard the noise, but Arya was already gone, leaping towards the entrance of the crypts. She saw the bodies of children and mothers, cradling their young and the skeleton bodies of former Starks, Arya feeling her heart thrumming in the throat, making it harder to keep breathing as she ran down the dark halls of the crypt. Finally, finally she saw people, alive.

 

_“It’s over, it’s over”_

_“Did you see the bodies fall?”_

_“Mommy, wake up”_

 

The silent voices around the main hallway of the crypt bounced off the walls, as Arya was trying to find a familiar voice.

“Lady Sansa, is it safe to go up?” someone asked, alerting Arya and she looked to her right, seeing her sister standing amongst her people, her hand resting on a young woman’s shoulder, as she seemingly tried to calm people around her down.

“It’s over. It’s safe.” Arya’s voice rang before Sansa could answer, Sansa’s blue eyes jumping up to her little sister, relieved smile stretching the thin lips.

“Arya!” Sansa’s voice was full of affectionate surprise, but Arya didn’t bother to answer as she leaped towards her sister, throwing her hands around her in a quick, rare hug.

“You sure did hit your head, huh?” Sansa laughed quietly, as Arya was taking a step back, smallest of smile curling her lips upwards. Sansa’s hand rose to touch the dirty wound on Arya’s forehead, but Arya put her own hand between the bloody spot and Sansa's ladylike fingers, surprisingly spotted with blood and grime.

“… Bran is alright. So is Jon. Theon sacrificed himself to protect Bran.” Arya informed Sansa, seeing the sadness in her eyes as soon as she told the fate of Theon, but the she-wolf didn’t let her sister dwell too long in her sadness; there was a time for mourning, but this was not the time, as the Lady of Winterfell needed to be the voice and the feelings of her people; she needed to carry on, be strong, until the eyes of everyone in the crypt weren’t on the two Stark girls.

“What in the seven hells happened here?” Arya demanded, looking around the crypts and the people, who survived, yet her gaze lingering longer on the people who didn’t make it.

“Well, seems like the crypts weren’t the safest place after all. All the bodies just... Started moving. Out of the graves.” She explained, shaking her head in disbelief. “Though, that should’ve been expected from a being whose army consists of the dead.”

Arya nodded slowly, looking around the low crypt walls that had the marks of fighting and death. Sansa was about to say something, but Arya just informed her she needed to go back up to the courtyard to see what was happening next.

 

* * *

 

 

Arya’s feet ached as she got back to the ground level, the sun trying to peek behind the thick winter clouds. The survivors of the battle had already started to sort the bodies, Samwell Tarly and a few others who could write marking down everyone deceased who could be identified. Some of the soldiers were hauling bodies of the twice-dead wights outside the castle walls, where dark smoke of the burning bodies was already rising. Arya walked past the small, crushed body of Lyanna Mormont, her eyebrows furrowing for a bit – the girl had been a great fighter, worth so much more, but Death didn’t care for that; and on the other hand, Arya heard nearby soldiers talk about how the small girl had taken down a giant, a feat grown men couldn’t do.

 

“You had to steal my honour, huh?” Jon’s voice was raspy, making Arya spun around. Jon was looking at him, smile beaming, dark hair matted on her forehead with sweat and blood. And as odd it felt in the moment, Arya smiled back at him, a twinge of proudness in her chest.

“Someone had to do it, since you shits were too busy. And loud.”

“I still don’t understand who taught you to move like that.”

“Told you, no one.”

Jon barked a tired laugh at her.

“You mind taking these to the forge? We need to salvage all the weapons we can, and after all of this is over, return them to the rightful houses.” Jon asked her, haphazardly pointing towards a heap of different kinds of swords; Arya could tell most of them were family swords, for the proud sons of families wanted to carry them with them even if Winterfell supplied with them with dragon glass weapons.

Arya picked up two of the swords, one smaller, almost like a dagger and wondered if Jon tasked her purposefully with a light task.

 

She made her way to the forge, her limbs feeling heavier and heavier with each step, as the adrenaline washed away, and the night spent awake and fighting was finally creeping up to her. Arya put the swords to a pile of other weapons, looking long and hard at the swords that had a coat of blood that made them look almost rusty. Gendry wasn’t in the forge, but almost the second Arya could finish that thought, she heard the footsteps at the entrance. Arya didn’t look over her shoulder, listening to the heavy footsteps, the sound of a heavy weapon being put down and then Gendry’s feet moving towards her.

Arya looked over her shoulder, her eyes landing on the man’s face, the blue eyes unreadable with wonder and something that reminded her of grief and joy mixed. Gendry’s hands crept to her, as he put his large hands gently on her hips, Arya soon moving to face him. Gendry’s hands came up, one around her head and one around her thin shoulders as he pulled her to a hug filled with mixed emotions.

“You’re okay. Thank the gods. _You’re alive_.” Gendry muttered into her hair, not caring about the wound or the dirt stuck into her skin and hair. Arya’s hands sneaked around his waist, pulling him closer, smelling the dirt and sweat, blood and smoke and all of that just told her again and again how they had both survived, how they were both alive.

They stayed like that for a while, just holding each other, Arya’s eyes closed and listening to his heartbeat. Eventually she heard someone else coming to the forge and moved away, Gendry looking almost hurt for a second, but Arya couldn’t help it; for years, she had been telling herself that affection must be hid away, for the love you have someone can easily be made into a weapon against you. Arya coughed quietly, about to speak when Gendry’s eyes flew to the dark markings on her neck. Wordlessly, he pulled her towards the light of a candle near them, studying the mark, his fingers gently touching the outline of the forming bruise.

“I already heard people were talking about how you were the one but – seven hells, Arya.” Her name sounded oh, so good from his lips, and for a moment she just wanted to get on her tiptoes and kiss him right then and there, but her mind was still warning her about the surroundings and curious looks shot at them. 

“Not a lot of rich girls you know taken down the Night King?”

“Thought you said I didn’t know any other rich girls.” Gendry hummed, laughter seeping into his voice. Arya let his hand rest on her neck for a bit, knowing Gendry was feeling her quickened pulse under his fingertips. The moment was ruined soon, as someone called out to Gendry, and the blacksmith had to take a few steps back.

“I guess we need to get back to work, --”

“Don’t --”

“… Milady.” Gendry continued, flashing a toothy grin at her, making the whole situation feel just a little bit lighter for a moment.

Arya gave Gendry a playful push before he walked towards the man, another blacksmith, who had been calling to him. Arya could feel the other blacksmith's eyes ligering on her, wondering how she had gotten so close with the new, dark-haired man, that was barely more than a boy, who had seemingly never been to Winterfell before, and yet she was already so unusually close with him. 

 

* * *

 

 

Hours later, when Arya was walking back from the forest with two surviving Dothraki stallions, she could hear Sansa announcing that there was to be a feast and a celebration later in the evening, where everyone surviving was invited. Arya walked the horses back to the overcrowded stables, looking at the few animals that weren’t looking quite as healthy, knowing they were going to be served as food later that evening, as people needed to be fed and Winterfell couldn’t hold all the extra animals brought by Daenerys or Northern farmers.

 

Arya felt dead tired, thinking about skipping the feast entirely, but she knew she was expected there, especially when word of her heroism had travelled through Winterfell like wildfire. For the hundredth time that day, Arya made her way to the forge, finding a familiar shaved head, as Gendry was kneeling, picking something up. He looked as tired as Arya felt, when she looked at her standing in the doorway.

“Join me, before the feast? You’ve done enough, I’m sure.”

“… As my lady wishes.”

There was nothing else needed, as Gendry put down his work and walked towards Arya, who gave him a small, softer smile.

“Thought we should clean up a bit before it starts.”

“I’m going to make other lower-class lads so jealous.” Gendry murmured as they made their way through the halls, some destroyed and some still littered with bodies, but the deeper into the castle they got, the better it looked. Arya started climbing the stairs towards her own room, both of them carrying three buckets of hot water between them. Usually Arya would have just asked someone else to bring the bathing water to her, but everyone else already had their hands full and she wanted to keep the few hours before the feast private between her and her blacksmith. Gendry had insisted on carrying the two buckets, joking something about Arya being the lady and all, but she was secretly thankful, as every muscle in her body was aching.

 

Arya opened the room to her bedchamber. It is just like she had left it the day before, some clothes on the floor and on the bed post. The bed was covered with some warm furs, though she had given most of them away for the people arriving at Winterfell who didn’t have anything to sleep with. The copper bathtub was sitting in the corner of the room, Arya making her way to it and dragging it about few feet away from the wall. Gendry poured the hot water in the tub, a nervous hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“I’ll just wait outside.” He muttered. Arya rolled her eyes, nodding towards the tub quickly.

“Like there is something we both haven’t seen before.” She stated like the obvious, making Gendry speechless for a moment, almost seeming like a faint blush was creeping on his face.

“I really don’t know if it’s appropriate--” he started, but Arya cut him off.

“Just take a bath. Can’t have you smelling like shit in my chambers.” Arya commanded sternly, even if in the back of her head she was unsure; last night was a whole thing thing she hadn’t quite sorted out with herself.

“I’m going to get you some… Somewhat-clean clothes.” Arya promised Gendry before walking out of her own room, letting him be alone for a moment. She also didn’t exactly want to be there in the tense atmosphere, so she walked down the tower stairs, borrowing a dark grey tunic and dark breeches, taking her sweet time getting them, to get some time to think.

Last night Arya was so sure, she wouldn’t see the next night roll around. She was sure the Death would consume her, and so she wanted, for once in her life, choose life – and so she did. It was only half true, when she said she just wanted to know how it felt like, because deep down she knew she wanted it to be Gendry, and even if they would die right after it, she wanted to share that intimacy with him for the first and possibly last time. And it had been wonderful, even if after it she had been lying awake, thinking if she had been just using Gendry or manipulating him, or even if he saw her as anything but a last lay of his young life. But when she had stabbed the knife into the ancient King’s icy skin, it had shattered her one way to escape these feelings and thought she now had to face. Arya felt her skin growing warmer, as she stood there, holding the messy pile of clothes, thinking about Gendry’s strong, sure hands on her skin, his voice and all the feelings pouring out as raw, physical and sexual energy after years of loss, pining and loneliness. 

 

Arya made her way back to her chambers, knocking on the door once before entering. Gendry’s clothes were folded on the floor next to the tub, and he was sitting in the tub, looking more relaxed than she had seen him in days - or maybe ever. When she entered, his eyes opened slightly, a lazy smile dancing on his lips, as he eyed at Arya and the clothes she was holding.

“This must be the treatment a king gets, huh?” he wondered, sitting slightly upwards in the tub as Arya put the clothes on her bed, her back facing him as she fiddled with the belt on her waist. She heard the water splash as Gendry was getting up from the tub. “Thank you, this was more than I deserve.”

“Stay.” Arya commanded, not facing him. Gendry did indeed stop, mid-movement, before slowly sitting back down, his eyes following as Arya stripped her light armour and clothes off, tossing them to the side, and which each piece of clothing Gendry could see more bruises and wounds, which made his heart ache in a strange, protective way. Finally, Arya turned to face him, but now his eyes weren’t on her body like they were the first time, but on her stormy eyes, as she walked closer to the tub.

“Move your legs.” Arya told him. Gendry inhaled sharply but did as she wished. He felt almost ashamed, that he had already gotten the water dirty before Arya could even get in, but it was what he was told by his lady. Arya sat down, sinking into the warm water, between his legs, back turned against his chest. Gendry realized he hadn’t breathed in a while.

“Arya, what… What are we doing?” He murmured, voice low as he didn’t dare to touch her.

“We won’t talk about that right now.” She said in a tone that didn’t leave space for more questions, so after a second or two of hesitation, Gendry lifted his hands and gently guided her to relax, her back resting against him. He moved his hands slowly, waiting for her to tell him to stop, but she never did. After a moments hesitation, Gendry tried to get the dirt off her skin, rubbing her arms and shoulders gently. Arya sighed heavily, letting her head drop a bit and eyelids droop as Gendry massaged the sore muscles. He cupped his hand a bit, trying to wet her hair to was off the dried blood off her scalp and dark hair, eyes studying the ugly wound on her forehead. He tried to get some of the blood off to see how bad the wound actually was, but as she hissed softly in pain, almost automatically he kissed her temple, murmuring an apology to her ear.

“Where does it hurt?” he asked, letting his hands wonder ack to her shoulders, then to her sides, gently rubbing her skin. He could feel her hesitation and slowed down, blue eyes jumping on her features he could catch as she was sitting in front of him.

“There. And my head.” She answered, guiding his hand to her hip, where he had seen a bruise forming earlier around a cut.

“No broken bones?”

“Don’t think so.”

 

The water was already getting cool when she finally stepped out of the bath, her skin covered in small bruises and a few bigger damages, but other than that she was fine; Arya had gotten lucky, after all. The bruising on her neck still felt cold to touch and was quite sore, but Arya didn’t let it bother too much. Arya walked through the chamber to grab her clothes, not wanting to talk about the different kind on intimate moment they had just shared, which just made her ache for more than just the type of connection from last night. She pulled the blouse over her head and dressed as Gendry was doing the same behind her, quieter than usual. Arya pulled her wet hair free, drying it as Gendry was trying to get his boots on his feet, looking serious. Arya was trying to read the emotions off his face, but could only catch confusion, amongst the mix of other feelings.

“What’s on your mind?” She finally asked, curious, sitting down on her bed and rubbing a stiff spot in her neck.

Gendry was silent for a long time, not looking up to her.

“Us.” It was such a simple, but nerving word, for both of them. Arya fell silent for a bit, but soon Gendry continued, filling the silence in the room. “We both know all of this… It isn’t appropriate. You are a lady, I’m a bastard blacksmith. Those things… Those things don’t mix together well. You know it, I know it.”

“I never wanted to be a lady!” Arya argued defensively, making Gendry shake his head.

“But you are. We can’t change where we come from.”

“But we can change where we are headed.” Gendry looked at her, sad, almost defeated look in his eyes before he walked to the door.

“They are probably wondering where I’ve gone. See you at the feast.” And with that, Gendry was out of the room.

 

* * *

 

 

Arya walked down, back to the courtyard, wearing a thicker, dark overcoat that was fancy enough for later and warm enough when she was staying outside. The cold wind was whirling around Arya, as she looked the courtyard, where the northerner’s bodies were being put into wagons pulled by horses to be burned later now that they had been identified and marked down. Arya saw Sansa looking at her from the balcony-passageway. Arya made her way to her, looking up and down at her dark grey winter gown, standing few feet away from her.

“How are things?”

“The soldiers are checking the grounds for the most critical places to be repaired. Most bodies have been identified, ravens have been sent for families outside North. And I’ve been told my little sister is snogging a blacksmith.” Arya was startled by Sansa’s last comment, looking at her sharply, catching the sly smirk on Sansa’s lips.

“I never snogged him!” Arya insisted, thinking back to earlier the day.  

“I thought you weren’t interested in romances and fairy tales?” Sansa teased, her tone gentle, almost as if she was testing the waters how much teasing Arya could take.

“I’m not. It’s just… I don’t know.” Arya’s frustration was apparent in her tone, Sansa turning towards her better, her features curious.

“You know if mom or dad were here, she would give you a whole lecture on marrying a high lord.”

“Well, that’s not me.”

“I know.”

There was a long silence after that, Arya finally leaning against the railing, looking over her shoulder, making sure nobody was listening to the Stark girls sharing idle chat about boys and romance – something most girls their girls age would giggle and blush about, but they were far from that point, both for their own reasons.

“I was sure we were going to die. I decided to … Act. Then we didn’t die. And now it’s complicated, for him. You know, blacksmith and a lady, all that.” Arya explained, voice heavy, eyes studying the patterns in the old stone wall.

“If you were anyone else of your position, I would tell you to play your cards right and think about this.”

“But?”

“You’ve been through enough. You deserve to chase after the people you want.”

“So do you.” Arya muttered, feeling shy all of the sudden – maybe part of her had wanted to Sansa to tell her it was ridiculous, and they would have fought, but it would have been easier to decide, either out of rebelliousness or sense of tradition.

“I don’t think there is anyone for me anymore.” Sansa hummed, Arya catching her looking down towards the Godswood. Arya was silent before nodding and humming softly like in approval.

“You never know.”

Arya stayed with her older sister for a bit, going back to talking about the feast, the strategy for the war to come, the battle that they had won, before Sansa was asked to oversee some of the preparations for the feast that was beginning in less than an hour. Arya made her way through Winterfell, avoiding the forge as she walked through her childhood corridors and halls, most of which were showing the signs of the battle, marking one more chapter into the history of the old building.

 

* * *

 

 

The feast was glorious; everyone, who had survived, were there, drinking and eating for their survival, for their fallen friends, for spring, for the honour of the Lady of Winterfell and the North. Arya sat in the main table with her siblings and the Queen, eyes following closely at the movements around the room, at all the familiar and unfamiliar faces, the idle chatter and rowdy soldiers filling the Great Hall with noise.

Arya could feel Gendry’s eyes constantly on her and whenever she looked at him, he would look away. Arya felt frustrated with the games of cat and mouse, so after she had eaten quite enough and when people were getting drunker and drunker, moving around the hall and nearby corridors more, Arya excused herself. She looked at Gendry for long enough for him to notice and then walked out, people making way for her, cheering and thanking her – after all, she was the Saviour of the Living, the She-Wolf of the North. Arya made her way outside, to the chilly night air, and stood there, hands wrapped around herself, looking up at the stars.

It didn’t take long before the laughter and singing of the drunk northerners poured into the night, but ended soon as Gendry shut the door behind him. Arya turned to look at him, her dark features staying stoic.

“I’m sorry about earlier. I shouldn’t have left like that.” Gendry apologized, looking straight at her under his eyebrows, even if she was a lot shorter than him.

Arya could’ve said something, but instead she closed the distance between them and put her hands on his cheeks, kissing him deeply, noticing the faint taste of ale. Gendry let out a surprised yelp before his hands came to hold her, keeping her close. The kiss felt familiar, easy; nothing like the last two days. When Arya finally pulled away, her breathing was a bit heavier than normally, her eyes examining his eyes, that fluttered open few seconds after. There was a heavy silence, as she was looking for the right words, but then he bended down to kiss her again, his hand coming to rest on her cheek, where the fresh cut was still sensitive to touch. The kiss was longer than the first one, Arya wrapping her hands around his neck, using him as an leverage on top of standing on her tiptoes.

“Are we going to do this?” Gendry breathed against her skin after the kiss, a wrinkle forming between his dark eyebrows.

“… Yes.” Arya finally said, moving herself away from Gendry, though her hand was still lingering on his arm, as she guided him to the shadows of the courtyard, away from all the curious eyes and people that might pass through.

“You know it won’t be easy. It’s not supposed to be like this.” Gendry swore under his breath, Arya silencing him with a quick kiss.

“It won’t, but what in our life has ever been easy?” Arya whispered, continuing before Gendry could argue with her. “But things are changing, we both know it. North could be independent in the future, we could have a Queen as a ruler. All of this… It could be different.”

“And if you want to talk houses, titles, families… Gendry, you are the last Baratheon alive. The last heir of one of the greatest houses.” Arya urged, though she was unsure of how he would take her words – the way he had said it in the forge the other night, she could feel how he felt it was just a burden he had to carry without ever getting anything good out of it.

“Bastard. _Bastard_ Baratheon, not an _heir_.” Gendry corrected her sharply.

“That’s what they told Jon for years. Then he was declared the King in the North.” Arya reminded him, making Gendry smile for the first time during their conversation.

“You drive a hard bargain, milady.” Gendry muttered right before pressing another kiss on her lips, backing Arya against the wall in the shadows. Arya smirked against his lips, pulling him closer before muttering something about moving to somewhere more private; there was only so much the shadows could hide away from eyes looking for gossip about the Stark girl seducing the blacksmith that came with Jon and Daenerys.

Arya led Gendry through the dark corridors of Winterfell, avoiding people wandering around. Before they had even gotten to the bottom of the stairs that led to her bedchambers, the young lovers’ hands were already wandering under the fabric, touching the skin spotted with bruises and cuts but running hot from everything happening. When they finally made their way up, Arya was quick to kick the door behind them close, swearing faintly as she tried to get all the fancy buckles on her clothes open, ripping them off with the help of Gendry as they inched towards the bed. Part of them wanted to take their time now that there wasn’t the impending death right around the corner, but on the other hand both were way too impatient for that – and in a way, both of them silently hoped they would have the time to go slow, explore it all for more than just one or two nights.

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning was sunnier than it had been in months, as the nature was rejoicing the end of the Long Night with the people, the warm glow reaching Arya’s bed and warming the furs the two bodies laid under. Gendry had been awake for a while, but he didn’t want to wake up or move, his limbs wrapped around Arya, who seemed to be shielding herself even in her sleep. Gendry was watching her face, the relaxed features reminding him of the girl – or rather, the “boy” – he had met years before. His hand had found the knife earlier under one of the pillows, which made more and more questions rise; she knew Arya was a dangerous opponent in a battle and she clearly had trained with someone, but he didn’t know where or how she got there. So many things in the girl were such a mystery, starting with the deep scars on her side to the way she could sneak up on about anyone, ready to stab her way through the ones opposing her. 

The sounds outside started to get louder and louder as the people of Winterfell started to prepare for the new day, all still recovering from the battle, but still wanting to repair what was lost, whether it was a castle wall or praying for the lost souls.

Gendry felt like it was a clear sign he should be in the forge and started to get up finally, immediately waking up Arya as he untangled their hands and feet. Her sleepy eyes quickly found him, the softest smile forming on her lips as she muttered “g’morning” to him. Gendry couldn’t help but smile back, as for a little while everything seemed almost easy, effortless, perhaps thanks to the warm feeling in his chest as he bent down to kiss Arya’s forehead, one hand coming to rest on her cheek, supporting her head.

Still, Gendry reminded himself, he needed to get back to the forge before people would start asking where he was. He pulled himself up from the bed, putting his breeches back on and had just pulled the tunic over his head, when a sharp knock from the door made him jump.

“Arya? Meeting in an hour in the library.” It was Jon Snow, the bastard brother. Gendry felt his blood run cold, as he feared Jon would open the door and see a bloody blacksmith in his little sister’s room while the said sister was still dressing up herself. Luckily for Gendry, the door stayed shut, but it didn’t stop Arya from laughing openly at his white face.

“You look like you just shat your pants. You about to climb down from the window too, so you won’t run into Jon?” Arya joked, grinning from ear to ear; it was a refreshing sight. Gendry laughed along, though timid, before he coughed to get his voice back.

“I’ll see you later?”

“You can count on that. I’ll come to the forge after we are done in the meeting.” Arya promised, putting her coat back on and starting to close all the damn buckles in it, opening the door and peering down into the stairwell. “You’re good to go.”

And as Gendry raced down the stairs, trying to avoid being caught sneaking out of the Stark kids’ bedchambers, he felt his heart race from excitement and from something new, warm and hopeful.


	2. Curiosity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was rewritten 9/5/19.

Arya made her way through the halls of Winterfell, dodging the people rushing past her, grabbing a piece of bread on her way to the library. She still had plenty of time, so she let her steps be a bit slower than usual, as the battle seemed to finally really settle in after a night’s sleep, and all the bruises and cuts felt sensitive to touch, her right shoulder a bit stiff after she had tried to crush a wight’s face during the battle – back then it didn’t even hurt, and even now it was barely an annoyance, but it still Arya feel jumpy and in a way, weaker, in the worst of times. The battle was seemingly over, but she knew the second everyone had gathered into the library, the strategies for the next battle down south would be made, the very first preparations starting.

Arya opened the heavy, badly damaged library door in front of her, wondering when did the world become a place of war and battles; when she was younger, just a girl sitting next to the septa, even the rebellion her own father had fought in felt distant, story-like. But now there was no father or a septa to tell her the stories of great battles, for now she was the one swinging the sword. Back then, water dancing with a wooden weapon was the closest Arya knew of a fight, but as soon as her father’s head hit the ground under the scorching sun of King’s Landing. there had been nothing but fighting, whether it was for survival or honour or kings and queens. It never seemed to end.

Arya saw Sansa already sitting at a table in the library, reading a small note a raven had carried to her. The morning sun made her red hair look like the fire that had roared during the battle, and for a moment, Arya just watched her sister. As children, they had never been on good terms, their childhood filled with bickering and teasing, but after years spent apart and growing out of their childish ways, Arya had really started to respect Sansa. She had gotten some information out of Sansa during some late nights walking the battlements, and it wasn’t hard finding the missing pieces of the puzzle; being held captive in King’s Landing as the traitor’s daughter, married off to the Imp and then being accused of murder and again, being wed to a man who was known for his cruelty and the ravaging of Winterfell. Arya could see her sister was hardened, to anyone who came too close, always few steps ahead with her wit, whereas Arya was slowly melting, becoming softer after years of training and pretending to be someone else, as she was finally home. Arya found it tragically funny, how it had worked out that way; she was supposed to be the stone princess of Winterfell, Sansa was supposed to be the one gushing about the Baratheon boy – not the same boy, thank the gods.

“Did you see Jon or his Queen on your way here?” Sansa’s question made Arya snap out of her thoughts, answering with a slight turn of her head.

“I didn’t. Jon did come wake me up, though, so he is coming.” Arya informed her sister, making one of Sansa’s eyebrows rise slightly. Arya was usually the one who was awake before anyone else, ever since she returned to Winterfell since that was the only time she could catch some alone training time in peace. Arya really did not want Sansa to give it too much of a thought, since she seemed to be aware of everything happening in her castle nowadays, so she distracted her with a new question. 

“Who else is coming to this meeting?” Arya circled the table, eyes lingering on the map as she was trying to picture her own journey on the old paper, fingers fiddling with the handle of the Needle. 

“Jon, the Queen, Tyrion, most of the inner circle. We’ll keep it short, make the very first plans and to set a rough timeline of the march and attack.”

Arya nodded, fighting the urge to yawn; the day was going to be a long one.

 

As people soon started to suffle in the partly-destroyed library, Arya mostly remained between the shelves, waiting for the meeting to officially start; she didn't want to go through any small talk. She picked up a book from the floor, squinting her eyes as she saw the title - it was one of the books she was read as a child, about Targaryen kings and queens and warriors. She had loved it back then; who would've known in 10 years she would stand in the presence of the last Targaryen, the mother of the dragons Arya had only been imagining before falling asleep every night. It was bizarre, but soon as she heard Jon start talking, she put the book back and walked back with the others.

 

As people started throwing ideas around, Arya kept mostly silent, watching from the side of her sister as they moved the pieces on the map around, suggesting ways of attack; should it be quick and hard should they try to starve out the people of King's Landing to cause desperation and bread riots? Arya saw Sansa's mouth twitching a few times, until she finally spoke, pointing out the flaws in their plans; their army was no match to the iron fleet, gold cloaks, Lannister guard and the Golden company, and Dany's dothraki soldiers couldn't ride on the narrow streets. The remaining Unsullied could do it, but they didn't know the city and all of it's treacherous dead ends and secret streets that people of the city knew and could use. Starving the people out was not really an option either, Sansa had pointed out, as even id they blocked the entrances and kept all the supplies to themselves, they would cause the other houses to rise against the Northern and Daenerys, which would have them between two attacking parties - and anyway, with the Iron fleet, the supplies could just be brought by ships as the Iron fleet was guarding the port. 

Arya was watching the Dragon Queen's annoyance on her face grow, until Sansa stopped talking.

"Do you have anything to add, other than critique?" Daenerys snapped at Sansa, although her face was oddly calm. 

"I just don't want you to lose any more men for charging into the battle without thinking."

"The men I lost fighting for your home." 

"Both of you, stop this. Grey Worm, you know the army's capabilities best, what would you suggest?" Jon said, using the kind of tone Arya knew he was chosen commander for - and it worked, even if the red-haired Stark and white-haired Targaryen were shooting daggers out of their eyes for each other. 

"My Queen, what Lady Sansa said about us not knowing the city of King's Landing is true, it would be hard for the Unsullied to attack."

"Not if the people, both the commonfolk and Lannister armies were themselves distorted." Daenerys suggested, the whole room suddenly becoming tenser, until finally Varys spoke.

"My Queen, I would suggest you not to harm any of the men who do not serve as guards or gold cloaks. They do not represent Cersei, and taking your anger out on them would lower your popularity among them once you take the Iron Throne. " Varys was careful with his wording, Arya could hear him think twice about every syllable that he said out loud, as the Queen was known for her anger.

"They live in the city of a false Queen, make her bread and arm her guards. They have not recognized me as their queen - they are against me. I can't walk around King's Landing giving gold and cakes to the commoners, that's not how they will see the power I hold. The way is with dragons, as it was for hundreds of years with my ancestors." Daenerys' answer made Sansa's face twist in annoyance, even anger - Varys and Tyrion exchanged a look, which led Arya to wonder if they had their own plans for their Queen. Yet, Arya was the first - and only one to speak.

"You're going to rule a city of ashes? If you burn everything down, most of your reign would be rebuilding and getting people to bend the knee one at a time. It would be a waste of your time as the Queen of Seven Kingdoms." Daenerys looked surprised that Arya actually spoke against her - most of the time the girl spent her time in the shadows, making short comments, never really taking sides. The Dragon Queen was quiet for a moment, before she waved her hand dismissively. 

"We can sort all of this strategy out later. Now, we need to decide how soon can we start the march. How long will the march there alone take?" Daenerys asked, looking straight at Jon, who averted his eyes to look at the map in the middle.

"About a month, give or take. When Robert Baratheon came as a royal guest, it took him a month, if I recall right. Robb's armies took longer, since they had battles along the way. But if there are no battles and we try to keep moving, it would take somewhere between three to four weeks. The ones sailing should leave a little bit later, since they will just be sailing the coastline." He moved his fingers along the map, darkened eyes trying to figure out the length of the journey. "We have the northern horses, that are built for harsh weathers and long journeys. Dothraki horses are faster and enduring. Though we don't have horses for nearly half of our combined forces, so we'll have a lot of people moving on foot - and then people to feed the forces, medics, blacksmiths to take care of the armor and weapons..."

"How long will it take before we can leave? In a month, Cersei could already be allied with more houses who could stop us on our way. We can't wait any longer than necessary." Her voice was cold and sharp, as she clearly did not like what she heard.

"A week, at least - two would be better. Everyone is exhausted and getting the supplies, weapons, food.." Jon informed her, standing up straighter, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. Arya's eyes moved to look at Sansa, who was rubbing her temple with her fingers. Then Arya's grey eyes moved to the map again, as she looked at the pieces set on the map. Each piece represented a few dozen men, and among those men would be Jon, Bran, ... Gendry. Sansa was going to stay in Winterfell - there must always be a Stark in Winterfell - but going to the war meant everyone in Arya's pack was in danger, even Sansa if Cersei won. They needed to act fast, she couldn't risk anyone, so when she spoke again, she was pointing at one of the wooden pieces with a painted Stark-sigil on top. 

"I suggest we gather a small group. Since dothraki and Unsullied can't really fight on the streets, and Cersei and everyone close to her will be holed up in the Red Keep, we need to get there. Group of people who know King's Landing, preferably even Red Keep." Arya explained, moving the piece on top of Red Keep. "I would suggest me, maybe Hound... Brienne was in Red Keep, no? Sansa, how well do you remember the layout of the Keep? Can you tell us how to get ... Wherever Cersei would be during an active attack?" 

Arya suggesting she would be part of this small force made Jon suck in air sharply, but Sansa turned her head to her sister. In Sansa's eyes there was understanding; she knew Arya's capabilities, knew her sister was the lone wolf willing to sacrifice herself for her pack. Cersei was a threat, so Arya of course had to take care of her, it just happened that Daenerys wanted the Lannister queene's head as well. Before Sansa could answer, though, Jon spoke up. 

"That's madness. It's a suicide mission, if we attack King's Landing the guards will be there to protect the Queen."

"What do you suggest then? Force our way through the city and just hope there is enough forces to beat Cersei's way more skilled guard once we get to her hiding place in her own castle? Please, that would be just a game of catch we could never win." Arya argued, grey eyes determined. Jon's mouth opened as he was about to answer, but Daenereys was faster.

"That could work - a small force with an even playing field, if you can get the knowledge of where Cerseie could be hiding and what the Keep is like." Daenerys was clearly pleased with the young direwolf's idea, in a way taking it as a compromise so when she clapped her hands together with a tiniest hint of smile on her face, she clearly wanted to end the meeting. "So it's settled. We march in a week and once we arrive to King's Landing, we have a small group go after Cersei, while my Unsullied and dothraki and other remaining soldiers keep the guard busy in the city."

Jon turned to his Queen, clearly ready to argue but Arya wasn't in the mood to listen to any more strategics. She nodded to Sansa in silence before heading off before anyone else. 

 

Arya headed outside, eyes searching through the courtyard, where some soldiers were moving molten stone and steel outside, while others were repairing the outside walls. The whole courtyard felt more alive than it had in years, making Arya ache strangely for the past. She thought in a way, she had left all that behind after she went to Braavos, lost her sense of self before taking it back, though it never felt quite right: it was almost as if she was walking in stranger’s shoes, calculating every moment with her family and trying to think how was Arya Stark supposed to react. It wasn’t like that all the time, but some days and places were harder.

The girl grimaced, as she saw someone carry a child’s body towards the entrance, then her dark eyes moving upwards and catching a glimpse of the Hound. She knew he had survived, since he had been at the feast the night prior, so she didn’t even try to fake being surprised. Sandor was sitting down on a sturdy box, downing an aleskin, growling at a young northern squire next to him, offering to clean off his armour and weapons.

The she-wolf’s steps were soon headed towards the former hound, sitting next to him without looking at the Hound's scarred face, making the jumpy squire run along with a cold look his way.

“Just can’t get rid of you, huh?” Arya started, Sandor rolling his eyes and taking another swing of ale, then handing the skin to her.

“Heard you killed the winter bastard. After leaving me to die, again. This time with a witch.”

“Third time’s the charm?” Arya offered, drinking the cheap ale before giving it back to Sandor. He didn’t answer anymore. The silence settling over them was comfortable, both eyes following the people walking around the inner castle grounds, muddy ground staining people’s boots and breeches as well as the occasional hems of the women. Arya picked the small cut on her knuckles, mindlessly, until she heard the Hound get up. She wanted to say something, but kept quiet, narrowing her eyes - she wondered if she should have told him she had just offered Sandor to go into the Red Keep alongside her. Arya knew, he wanted his brother's, the Mountain's head as did Arya, so she imagined it wouldn't be too hard to convince him to come. She watched as he made his way to the stables, but then turned her gaze back to the northerners, bored look back on her face.

 

That was until she felt a soft kick on the box she was sitting on. Arya turned her head to see Gendry, arching his brow.

“Thought you might want this.” Arya’s eyes moved to the weapon in his hand. It was similar to the one she had asked him to make earlier – an ironwood staff with a sharp steel head. Arya stared at the weapon for a bit, before reaching her hand out and standing up. Arya noticed Gendry’s fingers lingering just a little bit longer than necessary on her skin as he handed her the staff. It felt quite light in Arya’s hands, as she rolled it around a few times, testing the weight and balance of it.

“You were quite handy with it, I hear. Found the one I made you earlier, thought you’d want it back.” Gendry didn’t want to mention, he had found it last night and had been sure Arya was a goner. He didn’t want to even think about the storm that had been raging inside him then, as he counted the weapons mind numbed, until he finally had seen her in the forge hours later after being sure he would have to go her body go up as smoke in the funeral pyres. He couldn't recall the last time he head been as happy as when he had seen her on her feet, as strong and stubborn as ever.

“What have you been doing all day in the forge if you had time to make a twin for the spear you gave me earlier?”

“I’ll take that as a thanks.”

“… Depends on how soon it'll be broken, too.” Arya said after a pause, rolling her eyes at Gendry before mouthing a "thank you", as she saw an amused smirk on Gendry's face. Arya could almost hear her mother scolding her for being so rude. It was odd; some memories felt stronger in Winterfell.

 

“Want to go grab something to eat? Or do you highborn ladies have your own kitchen staff?” his cheeky question made Arya push him almost playfully, Gendry laughing short, husky laughter as he regained his balance.

Arya put the spear down and made her way to the line, Gendry trailing right behind her. His hand seemed to brush into hers almost accidentally every now and then, as they got their bowls full of brown stew and sat down to the crowded tables nearby. Gendry was sitting in front of Arya and in the middle of their conversation he suddenly choked on his food, coughing a few times. As Arya turned to look what made Gendry react like that, he saw Jon walking towards them. He clearly wasn't in a great mood, but still managed to smile at Arya. She guessed he had been looking for her and tell her to not do anything stupid and promise to not go after Cersei, but because Gendry, although Robert Baratheon's bastard and a trusted blacksmith, was sitting with her, Jon couldn't talk much about strategy and battle plans. 

"You two know each other?” It was a great start, really. Arya bit her tongue to stop herself from sharing how well exactly did she know Gendry, but just nodded, swallowing the piece of dry bread before answering.

“We traveled together some years ago, with Yoren. Gendry was supposed to be taken to the Wall, and I was supposed to be dropped off in here. Didn't quite work out.”

“To the Wall? What did you do to have such fate, you couldn’t have been older than what, 13? 14?” Jon’s question made Gendry look at Arya quickly under his brow before answering.

“Nothing, really. My old master didn’t want to keep me around and dumped me to Yoren who was recruiting boys to the Night's Watch.” There was a pause, before Gendry continued. “Glad I ended up here though and not the Wall. I don't think it would've suited me.” As soon as he finished, Gendry felt Arya’s boot connect with his shin sharply.

“Night's Watch would've kept you fed and warm, but I understand why it's not the most appealing opinion. At least to a young lad like you."

"You talking about the vows?" Gendry barked a laugh with his words, making Jon chuckle as well.

"Well, yes. And didn't you say you grew up in King's Landing? North isn't kind to southerners." Jon answered, not catching the smug look Gendry gave to Arya.

"North's been plenty kind to me." As soon as Gendry finished his sentence, he felt Arya's boot connect with his shin sharply. He just grinned at Arya, who decided to change the subject before Jon could ask anything.

"Did I miss anything important? I left the meeting a bit early." Arya's question made Jon look at Gendry quickly before speaking. 

"Not really, mostly Daenerys and Sansa bickering. I fear once Dany takes the throne, Sansa will be in trouble."

"Well, aren't you sure about your queen's success."

"As should you be, since you are fighting for her." Jon sighed, then shaking his head seeming almost disappointed in Arya's skepticism. Jon stood up and nodded to the two before leaving the courtyard. As soon as Jon was out of sight, Arya grimaced at Gendry, who had returned to eating his stew.

"Were you trying to make Jon suspicious just now?" Arya asked, though her voice was only slightly annoyed, mostly amused. 

"What? I just don't like sneaking around. Or lying." Gendry shot back, making Arya raise her eyebrow sarcastically.

"So why not just yell it to the whole Winterfell then? It's a small place, if you tell someone you pissed on someone's grave in the crypt, half the North will know before you even finish your sentence."

“Well, at least they’d know the little lady of Winterfell is actually a beast with two backs.”

"Gods, you're stupid." 

 

* * *

 

 

Arya woke up with a start. At first, her fight or flight instincts kicked in and she was about to jump off of the bed, clutching the dagger hidden in the head of her bed. Then she realized where she was and what was happening: Gendry’s arms were wound tightly around Arya’s midriff, his brows furrowed and his jaw was set as he was biting down his teeth. Arya stared down at the man for a while, before she gently nudged his shoulder – it didn’t really do anything, but when she used a little bit more force the second time, Gendry’s stormy blue eyes opened fully awake and startled. He looked around in the dark, his hands never leaving Arya’s bare skin.

Gendry then seemed to fully grasp where he was, his hand coming to rub his tired eyes, as he soon laid down on his back, rubbing the center of his brows.

“Are you alright?” Arya asked in the deafening silence. Arya saw the faint silhoutte of his head nod once.

“Just a bad dream.” The answer was short, as if he wasn’t prepared to answer any more questions – but Arya had them. She hadn’t had a bad dream in years.

“About what?” Her voice was raspy with sleep. Arya sat up on the bed, not caring to cover up as she lifted her hand and rested it on Gendry's cheek, her fingers touching the shaved, bit overgrown hair.

“Harrenhal. Mixed with beyond the Wall. The usual.” Gendry’s voice was tired as he unconsciously nuzzled against her hand, letting his hand rest on his chest. Arya could hear him sigh right before he spoke again. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“You didn’t.” Arya lied, rolling her eyes in the darkness – why would he apologize for that.

He didn’t speak after that for a long while. Arya laid back down, assuming he had fallen back asleep, but then he spoke.

“Do you ever get them? Bad dreams from places … where you’ve been?” his voice was unsure, like he was already regretting his questions.

“No, not really.”

It surprised Gendry - she could feel his eyes on her, even though the darkness in the room gave nothing away.

Her bed made a sound when he propped himself up on the bed.

“How can you not?”

“It’s in the past. Bad things happen, good people die.”

“You don’t care?”

“I do, but there is nothing I can do now.” Arya knew it was a lie; all that had happened back before she became a faceless man, felt distant, like she had heard stories of the things she had gone through, but they were all things that happened to someone – expect a few things; Jon Snow’s smile as he handed her the Needle, the dancing steps, the annoying bull-headed boy. Arya was lost in her thoughts for a while, until she felt Gendry’s calloused fingertips explore her skin on her hip and on her side. In the dark, the dark scars on her skin couldn’t be seen, but Gendry felt the bumps of uneven skin under his fingertips.

“Where were you all those years? Who gave you these?” Arya had waited for him to ask; Gendry was a curious man, he was a protective man even if he knew Arya didn’t need it particularly. Of course he had been dying to ask what marked Arya's skin, what happened to her during the years they spent apart. 

“I’ll tell you someday. You should sleep.” Arya felt his exploring fingers stop on her hipbone and she could hear the cheeky smirk on his face as he spoke.

“Don’t feel like it.”

Arya put her hand on his cheek, bending down to press a kiss on his lips, blindly in the darkness of her bedchamber. Arya bit her lip softly, as she lifted herself up and straddled Gendry as he sat up, suddenly forgetting all of his stupid questions about Arya’s scars and bad dreams, or at least Arya was planning on making him forget them for the next few moments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> watch me write full-blown sex scenes in like chapter 5 oop


	3. Talks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!! NOTE !!!  
> This fanfic was supposed to be oneshot. It apparently isn't. I rushed chapter 2 and 3 and ended up disliking them, so I wrote parts of chapter 2 (if you don't feel like reading it, the major change is that Jon does not know about Gendry and Arya and there is an added scene of Arya attending the strategy meeting instead of just skipping it). If you read the former chapter 3 when it was still up - I'm sorry you had to go through that mess. Big yikes to that.
> 
> Thank you all for your lovely comments! I have planned this fic for the next 10 chapters or so, but I would love to hear your suggestions and all feedback is appreciated!

Arya was born during the long summer - when she saw snow for the first time, she was immediately fascinated by it. It was whiter than any of Sansa's dresses or the mane of the white horse in the stable. It was as if clouds themselves had dropped from the sky; so when little Arya went to touch it and was cold, she was startled. It wasn't supposed to hurt her skin and make it angry red, but to feel soft and nice. That was how she had always imagined it when Robb would tell her about his hunting trips to northern parts of their family's region. 

This time Ned had taken his children who could travel, while Catelyn was pregnant and didn't have the energy to travel. Arya couldn't remember where they were going - to some Northern village where her father was expected - but it was the very first time Arya had been so far up north she saw snow; it was so odd that she had insisted on the whole family and the few guards with them to stop and to Robb let her down from the horse so she could see the white on the ground better, even if some small grass patches were still to be seen. 

After Arya was taken to King's Landing with her father, she had soon started to miss snow; she remembered one time Theon had pushed both her and Sansa to a pile of snow when he was supposed to be watching over the girls during travel. Sansa had screamed at Theon for ruining and wetting her dress; to Arya, it was the funniest thing to happen back then. There was never quite enough snow in the Winterfell for the children to play in, but her father told her every now and then how there seemed to be more and more snow as moons passed by; Winter was coming. Arya didn't quite known what it meant. 

Once Arya came back to Winterfell, when Winter had already come, she had been fascinated by all the snow, but soon learned how to use it as her advantage; she could move quietly, though always leaving traces of her steps. Where the coat of snow was thickest, it was harder to walk, too, but Arya tried to use the softness of it as leverage as well. 

Snow was all nice and dandy, until she felt a fistful of snow being put down her coat from the back of her neck, the snow melting into freezing water that ran down her back, wetting the shirt under. 

Arya and Gendry had left early in the morning hours, grabbing their weapons and taking two horses. It was still dark out, when they arrived to a clearing in the nearby forest and tied the horses down so they could get back as easily as they had left. With the winter gone and spring slowly setting in, there wasn't lot of snow, but enough to make Gendry complain about it. They had sparred forever, dodging and attacking, throwing taunting comments at each other whenever there was an opening for one. Gendry was so much bigger than Arya, he had strength on his side, but Arya was agile and fast - where they lacked, the other had, which made the training exhausting for the both of them. Arya couldn't quite take Gendry down, Gendry couldn't quite catch Arya as she danced on the field of snow, Needle in her hand, cheeks red and eyes sparkling. Gendry couldn't help but think that she was beautiful, doing what she loved - and thinking that proved to be fatal. Or, would've proven to be fatal, if they had been serious. For the few seconds Gendry had gotten distracted, Arya had moved closer and had needle against his side, grinning to him as she got another win in the play fighting. 

"Too slow. You're dead." Arya announced, proudly. In the beginning she had been giving tips to Gendry on dodging, but as they had been training for over an hour, the last ten minutes had turned to full-on flirting. Arya stayed a bit too close, smirk on her face, knowing fully the reaction Gendry had to that; he was proud and stubborn, but he was also completely and utterly at Arya's whims. 

So when Arya lingered next to him for a second or two too long, when usually Gendry just took a step back and would go again, now he grabbed Arya by her waist, which Arya had been expecting to some extent. Still, she let out a surprised shriek mixed with laughter, but as soon as Gendry flipped her to her back on the soft snow and got a handful of snow inside her coat, it was something Arya had not prepared for and she tried to get up from the cold ground, yet Gendry was pushing her down by her shoulders - not enough to hurt, but firmly so her playful wiggling didn't help her jump back on her feet. 

"Who's dead now, huh? Huh?" Gendry laughed as Arya rolled her eyes back and went limp on the ground. Gendry chuckled and let go of her shoulders, but as soon as he had straightened his back, he was flipped arse over tit to the cold ground, Arya already standing over him, Needle's end almost touching his chest. Gendry lifted his hands in surrender, Arya soon helping him to get up. The air was light, relaxed around them and for a moment, they had both forgotten the days that were running out before they would start the march. Gendry was constantly needed in the forge, Arya was stuck inside making tiny adjustments to the strategies, plans, counting soldiers and trying to memorize the inside of Red Keep as Sansa explained it, hall by hall, door by door. The moments Gendry and Arya could share were limited to sometimes eating together with respectable distance between them, nights and morning training. It wasn't the easiest, but somehow it fit them; they had been separated so long, pining after one another so long that every minute spent with the other was a gift from the gods that needed to be treasured. 

 

* * *

 

Arya was annoyed. Her brows were dark over her stormy eyes, as she tried to keep her anger inside. The strategy meeting had once again slipped to stupid things, that didn't matter in the end. It didn't matter what could they salvage from the city, where would they camp, as long as in the end Cersei didn't have a beating heart; though, she wasn't sure if the bitch of a queen ever had one. 

Arya didn't even realize it fully, but she had ended up in the Godswood. Her steps soon became slower, the slowly melting snow wetting her boots. She was almost at the weirdwood tree, when she saw a familiar figure sitting in his chair, facing the tree, head tilted upwards.

"Nobody moved you yet?" Arya joked as she walked towards Bran, who didn't bother looking at her - of course he didn't. Old Bran would've ran to her, with skinned knees and head full of stories, but this Bran, the one she had met once she finally arrived home, was something else. He had the face and voice of Bran, but there was no soul left, just the knowledge of _everything_ and the annoying prophecies and puzzles. But still, Bran was her brother, he was her pack. Arya walked next to Bran, who now tilted his head towards Arya, even if his eyes remained in the face carved in the weirdwood. 

"Brandon Stark liked this place. It made him calm. But he also wanted to climb the tallest tree in the Godswood. He dreamed of climbing the highest towers and trees in the whole Westeros." Arya was silent as Bran told about Bran, it sounding just as weird as it had before. Arya didn't feel like saying anything, so she kept her mouth shut, face forward but looking at Bran every now and then, waiting for him to suddenly pop open and some other monstere from the legends to greet her. It didn't happen, sadly, or at least Bran spoke before the creature clearly posessing her younger brother would want to show it's face.

"You don't like Daenerys Targaryen and her way of speaking to your family." Bran stated, matter-of-factly. Arya's eyes were now also on the weirdwood tree, unmoving, her hands clasped together behind her back. 

"I don't, but if she gets Cersei off the throne, I don't have to like her to respect her abilities."

"The Arya Stark that was here before wouldn't have said that." Bran's voice was as monotone as ever. Arya wondered, which Arya Stark; the foolish girl who had never seen snow, the girl running from her brothers, the one that killed Night King in the very spot she was standing in. 

"You won't find yourself until you lose the one Arya Stark you learned to hate." Bran was now looking straight at her, his face free of any emotions, expect maybe boredom. Arya let out an annoyed sigh, deciding to play along for a bit.

"Which Arya Stark would that be, brother dearest?" _Stupid birdbrain._

"The one you blame for it all. Not like Sansa, but deeper hatred. Doesn't it pull you down constantly?" Bran asked, Arya keeping the eye contact as if she was trying to pick Bran's (stupid) brain, what was going on in there.

The silence stretched and stretched, until finally Arya decided she was once again just wasting her time having a staring contest with Bran. She nodded towards the exit of Godswood, offering to push Bran's chair inside before he would get cold; of course, her offer was answered with another cryptid prophecy, so in the end Arya just walked away from Bran, trying to take him as seriously as she could, even if it was hard at times. It was just riddle after riddle t hat made no sense. 

 

Of course, as soon as Arya walked out of the godswood and was about to go to her chambers to rest for a bit, she heard her name called by a familiar voice. As Arya turned around, her eyes met Missandei's. 

"Lady Arya, the Queen asked me to tell you that we will be leaving in two days. She also wanted me to ask for you to please stay in the meetings until they are officially over, so you know exactly what the strategy is going to be." Missandei spoke softly, her pleasant accent making Arya feel false calmness as the Queen's lapdog was delivering the messages sent by Daenerys. Arya's lips were pressed into tight line before she nodded, not saying a word and watching as Missandei walked back towards the library, where people probably still were even if the meeting had ended. 

Two days.

Two days to spend a lifetime. 

Arya was about to turn on her heel and go straight to the forge and Gendry - they didn't have much time, even if Arya had always known the time was running out for them - when she felt a shiver down her spine; was she really about to give Gendry false hope of future and a world without queens gone mad, when Arya knew she wouldn't be coming back once she entered the halls of the Red Keep. 

Arya knew she had to break it off with Gendry, so he would have time to grow to hate her before she was gone for good. Gendry was too gentle, too good to pine after a dead lover, when he would be a good man to anyone. The thought made Arya's guts twist unpleasantly, part of her cursing her own selfishness. How could she be jealous, when they both knew it would end eventually? The past two weeks had been wonderful, but Arya knew it wasn't for her; she could never be the person Gendry deserved to be on his side. Her hands were soaked in blood, knuckled bruised with anger and nails seeped in vengeance, when Gendry needed someone to calm his storms and someone to laugh at all his stupid, stupid, wonderful jokes. 

But how could Arya not be selfish? Maybe it would be easier, if she let him down gently. Maybe if she ended it with soft words, blaming the world instead of herself like she should, he wouldn't argue, would understand Arya's duty to her list, her family, her home came first.

 _But he could be your family_ , something whispered in Arya. She didn't listen to it. She couldn't afford to let her heart be fooled; it was all physical, it was two people seeking the company of the other in the time of war. Nothing more.

That's what Arya kept telling herself, as she walked to the forge and without a word dragged Gendry with her to her chambers; he deserved more than just one last lay on top of sacks of wheat. 

 

* * *

 

 

One last lay would have been easy, if it had been one last lay. But Arya kept postponing it; she always was so sure it was the right time when Gendry was still coming down from the waves of pleasure, but once his arms were around her, and Arya decided to lay down for  _just a bit_ she always realized an hour or two later that it didn't go exactly as she had planned. 

Arya was going through that thought process once again in the span of a day and a half. It was already late in the evening, and Arya was laying on her side, Gendry's arms around her. Her fingertips were exploring his chest, drawing little patterns around the small scars, the burns around the skin as he was talking in low voice, almost a murmur right next to hear, his fingers sliding up and down her side to her hip, sometimes stopping to map out the scars on her skin. 

"... And I don't know, after that it was kind of ... I had to be a blacksmith, since I had a proper master. Became damn good in it, too, so I'm not too upset." Arya could hear the soft smile on his lips as he continued. "I guess you didn't want to become a princess or a septa when you were little?"

"No, I wanted to be a soldier, or a knight. Then Robb kindly informed me it wasn't an option. So I decided to become an explorer. Apparently that wasn't an option either, it was either a Lady or wife and a mother for me. Or those three combined, if you asked my mother." Arya had no idea, why she was telling Gendry all this. She was supposed to break it off, damn it, but there she was, talking about her childhood dreams. Gendry seemed to really know when to strike with the hard questions. 

"Well, you did explore quite a bit, huh?" Gendry suggested, again his fingers stopping on her scarred side; a wordless question - tell me, please. 

"... Just East." Arya said after considering her words for a bit. "There must be something west of Westeros, too. I don't think the sea would just ... End, because where would be thee water go, then?" Arya wondered out loud, closing her eyes as Gendry's other hand came up to her hair, fingers running through the thick, dark hair that had been a braid some time ago. 

"Mmh, why not. Where would you get a ship?"

"Steal it, of course."

"Ooh, a pirate as well. Interesting." Gendry mumbled. They lied like that for a while, until Arya finally got herself up from her bed. Gendry looked up to her, eyes droopy. Arya cursed herself for postponing again as she bent down to kiss his coal-stained forehead. 

"I'll come back in a bit. You can stay here." Arya promised, standing up and getting her dark brown tunic from the floor and dressing herself. When she looked over here shoulder, opening the door to the hallway, Gendry was already fast asleep. Arya's heart ached strangely, even though there was also the same, warm feeling that had been there ever since they kissed for the very first time; maybe even before that. Arya refused to think about it, making her way down to the cool spring night. 

Arya was surprised to spot Ser Brienne out, sitting in front of the forge, taking care of the weapon gifted to her by the Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister himself, Arya had heard. By the looks of it, Brienne had sharpened the sword now on her lap, but as soon as Arya got close, Brienne looked up from her work.

"Lady Arya."

"Don't you have Podrick for that?" Arya pointed out straight up, one eyebrow raised.

"I, uh, yes. But I think he could use the sleep. I don't mind doing this, did it by myself most of my years." Brienne answered. Arya looked at the knighted woman before sitting down next to her, which made Brienne raise her brows but not comment anything. Brienne reminded Arya somehow of both of her parents; she was honourable and just like her father, and carried the spirit and temper of a mother bear like Arya's mother; the girl felt herself surprisingly comfortable with the warrior woman. They had exchanged quite a few talks after the battle, and Arya had heard rumours Brienne was  _quite close_ with Jaime Lannister, which was surprising to say the least; he seemed like an opposite to her cold logic and oath-driven loyal protectiveness. Arya felt awkward, talking to Brienne about a man, for they both were nothing like the gossiping tavern girls she had seen on her journeys, with full bosoms and soft giggles when an average, not-old-shit man just walked by them. Arya could never be like that, and she couldn't see Brienne like that, so she decided to shoot her shot. 

"Heard you got that sword from Jaime Lannister."

"That I did."

"Why?"

"... For taking him back to King's Landing, more or less alive."

"I didn't take him as the sentimental - or even thankful - type." Arya could see the slightest hint of amused smile on Brienne's lips, which was a rare sight.

"Men can be quite complicated in all their ... Grudgeness." Brienne said, then her eyes looking up at Arya. "... Is there something on your mind?" Brienne asked, brows furrowing. "You have never came to me to chat me about anything else but swords and training." There was no accusation in her voice, just pure confusion. 

Arya sighed, looking up to Brienne as innocently as she could. "I just heard you're ... Close, with Jaime Lannister." As soon as Brienne understood what Arya suggested, she grew awkward, flash of red appearing on her cheeks. Brienne was about to say something, maybe even defend herself, but Arya continued, pressing on the topic that made her grow unsure. "It's just that ... We are similar, you and I, I think. It never occurred to me that women like us could be ... Liked." Arya said the last word as quietly as she could without her voice turning into a whisper. 

Brienne looked at Arya for a long time, setting down the sword on her lap. 

"That is what we were taught to think. No pretty gowns, no men around girls like that either." Brienne said, pausing for a bit. "Is there someone, if you're talking about this?" Arya wanted to laugh - how had she ended up talking about _love_ and _boys_ with Ser Brienne of Tarth. Young Arya and younger Sansa would've never let her live this down. 

"Not particularly, I was just wondering. It just seems that everyone got someone, and it doesn't seem to follow the pattern of a beautiful maidens and handsome men. I was always told women like us weren't built to be loved." 

Brienne's face was now obviously saddened, as she looked at the young woman next to her, battling with the same things she had as a young soldier, who towered over most men and was sure there was no love for here in the world; not that she would have cared for it, she had told herself - and maybe now Arya was telling that to herself, by the sound of it.

"Maybe we aren't quite built for the men who go mad at the peek of exposed skin and a pretty face, but there are men who see what you are made of before they see your beauty. And there are so many kinds of love, love for your family, love for your friends, love for you mother and father, love for your goals and oaths." Brienne's words were awkward, as she weighted them for a long time. Then she turned to watch Arya more closely, almost as if trying to remember something. 

"... Like your mother. She loved you very, very much. Catelyn Stark told me about her beautiful daughters, one a Tully, one a striking image of Lyanna Stark, whose beauty started a war. But more than that, she told me about the beauty of the spirits of her daughters, both determined and smart, one just a little bit wilder. And she wasn't wrong about your beauty, both your and lady Sansa's." Brienne told Arya, watching her face closely. 

But Arya's face didn't let through anything, as she kept her emotions at bay, but hearing Brienne remember her mother's words, it made here throat feel tight. Arya wondered, how it would have been, if her mother was here with them - would she tell the same things, would she tell Arya to keep in mind she had the responsibility to marry smart, have beautiful children and please her house and her husband. Arya scoffed to herself, then raising her hand to touch the back of her neck, almost as if nervously. 

"... Thank you. This was ... This was interesting, to say the least. I'm sorry I put you on the spot like that." Her words were awkward; Arya hadn't prepared to talk about love or her own beauty, ever. It just wasn't her - she was steel and ashes and death clinging to her skin, not a maiden talking about love or thinking how could she be more appealing to men, not that she could even if she tried. Arya excused herself quickly after that, heading back towards her bedchambers, catching Brienne's mumbling right before she opened the heavy door to the hallway. 

"You could have just said Gendry Waters, silly girl."

Seven hells, northerner gossip really was a pain. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is mama Brienne and angry teen Arya talking about ~ boys ~ very ooc and clumsy way for me to write down that dialogue? Yes, absolutely. Did it stop me? Nope! Because Brienne's and Arya's relationship doesn't get appreciated enough, and that is honestly RUDE because they GET each other!!!


	4. Morning

The morning was too quiet.

Morning sun had not yet broken the darkness of the night, but Arya was already awake, as she knew all of Winterfell was alongside her. Maybe people didn’t want to face the day of another war starting, maybe didn’t want to say goodbyes to their brothers and fathers, who were sent off to fight someone else’s war.

For Arya, the reason was completely different. Her chamber was lit with a few candles, the flames flickering and painting shadows on the walls. Gendry was sleeping beside Arya, his hand resting on his upper stomach, one hand under Arya’s pillow, fingers touching Arya’s shoulder gently. Arya hadn’t been able to sleep for at least an hour, studying Gendry’s features, running her fingertips along the scars on his torso and hands, trying to memorize every little curve and muscle, the way his brows seemed like they were furrowed even with his face relaxed, how his fingertips were hard and hands were full of patches of burnt skin. He had seen life, she knew, and he had faced death. Part of Arya wished they could just run away; he didn’t deserve to see another war and most importantly, couldn’t die now. But her duty was to her family, to her list – and overall, she couldn’t watch so many lives destroyed in King’s Landing under the fire of two queens mad with lust for power.

For that is what it was, madness, grasping every little piece of influence and strength they could get, even if Daenerys had been raised to get back the throne, even if she had freed the slaves in the east. But now she made people bend the knee, no matter their wishes or freedom; all she saw was people with her or against her, and she was ready to chain them if they didn’t do as she wished. That, or to be set as an example and watch them burn.

That couldn’t become Gendry, Arya thought, watching his face closely. She felt a pang of regret and cold realization as she thought that; she had been stringing him along for long enough, as every time she had gone to break his affection, it had turned into him making her softer, slowly molding her sharp edges even if what they had had only been going on for two weeks or so.

 _No, it has been longer_ , Arya thought back to Brienne’s words about different kinds of love. Of course she knew it; she had always loved her family above all, her brothers, parents and Sansa, had loved the boys Yoren had taken with him to the wall, and she had loved Gendry as a best friend. Yet she had never realized how those things would mix; in some families, a bit too literally, too. But for Arya, Gendry had grown to be like her family, her best friend and slowly becoming something more, something that ached deep under her heart, whispering sweet hopes and daydreams to her, as if they weren’t one slash of a sword away from being separated for forever.

 

With this thought ringing in her ears, Arya got up quietly, pressing her fingers to Gendry’s temple, sliding them down to his cheekbone before dressing herself. She knew she’d have to take some spare clothes and would need here light leather armour with her, but now a simple tunic with pants was enough, as she made her way up the Winterfell tower.

Arya didn’t bother to knock; she heard Sansa was awake already, as she hummed quietly. Arya moved quietly to see inside, seeing Sansa sew something to a piece of armour in front of the window, candlelight guiding her hands. She was a striking image of their mother, which made Arya hesitant at first, but then she focused on the work in her hands; she could see the decorated direwolf head, along with the letter “J” and the beginning of an “S” right under it.

Arya had never understood how Sansa could see the whole pattern, even before she started to work on it, but there she was, making the pattern on the dark, thick fabric.

“Mornin’.” Arya greeted, making Sansa snap her head up. Her sister did greet her back eventually after recovering of Arya’s sneaking, the said girl making her way to sit beside her sister, the candle between them. Sansa went back to her work, even if her eyes jumped up to Arya every now and then.

“I have a request.” Arya started, resting her back against the wall. She didn’t wait for Sansa’s reply before continuing. “You have the power to make people stay back with you, just in case. I need you to insist Gendry, the blacksmith, to stay here.”

Sansa’s eyes were exploring Arya’s features. They had been unreadable ever since her sister got back home after years, but now Arya’s calmness was betrayed, as her eyes were clearly stressed but determined.

“You trying to save him?” Sansa went straight in, looking back to her work.

“Yes. He doesn’t need to march to another war. He is great at arming men, and a good fighter. He’d be good to have around.” Arya tried to sell her idea of him staying in Winterfell to Sansa, which made the corner of the redhead’s lip turn upwards.

“Those things would be more useful in King’s Landing.” Arya opened her mouth to argue, but Sansa silenced her with hand, palm flat turned towards Arya. “You must be really fond of him, then. I understand you wanting to protect him, but I already promised him ---”

“Promised _Gendry_? He came to talk to you?” Arya interrupted Sansa, receiving an annoyed glance from her sister.

“He did, yes. The day we announced the march and told them we needed most of the blacksmiths on field and would need their advice on building a movable forge.” Sansa was silent for a moment, setting her work on her lap. “After that, Gendry came to me, requested that whatever happened, he would go to the King’s Landing with the army. Said he had his own reasons, when I asked – it’s weird having someone ask to get sent off to war.”

 Arya bit her lip, hard – she was wondering, if Gendry knew she would want to keep him out of the fight, or maybe he had some unfinished business back in the town he grew up in. _Maybe one of the three earlier girls?_ Arya tried to shoo off the thought, before she looked out of the window, face twisted out in annoyance.

“If you want to keep him away from where the fighting is thickest, go talk to Jon, he’s in charge of commanding the placements of the forces. He could have Gendry stay outside the walls of King’s Landing, arming the men. Some of the blacksmiths will be going to the city to salvage weapons and materials from the Street of Steel.” Sansa pointed out after a while, looking at her work. Arya turned her grey eyes to Sansa, and then leaned over to wrap her hands around her sister’s shoulders, who was trying to say something about the needle in her hand. Arya didn’t know if she should thank Sansa or say goodye. Sansa was staying in Winterfell, so it probably was their last one, and they both knew it. Sansa didn’t give her time to do either though, as she patted her back softly and spoke, voice now gentler, as if she had taken the sharpness of Lady of Winterfell out of it, speaking to her baby sister who wielded swords and had blood on her hands from more lives than Sansa cared to know.

“I got something for you.” With a swift movemet of her hand, Arya saw some folded pieces of clothing on the table pushed against the wall. When she got closer to them, Sansa instructed her was on the far left. Arya picked up the soft leather, opening it in front of her; it was a leather armour’s top, with light pauldrons, half-plate ang stronger, thicker leather vambraces. It was all in black, but as Arya turned the cloth in her hands, she noticed the strong stitching on the sides, making sure the metal parts wouldn’t clang together too much. Dark fur was around the collar, as an homage to the northern armour. There was the Stark sigil in the middle of the plate, as well as stitched to the neckline of the armour, with her letters, A and S. Arya wondered, if Sansa was stitching the S to Jon’s piece for Stark or Snow. For Bran there was a thicker leather armour as well, but it was simpler and not armoured like Arya’s piece; he wouldn’t be fighting anyway, just providing any insight he could give in the war.

“Thank you. It’s great.” Arya thanked, smiling to her sister who just nodded dismissively, focusing on her work. Arya took her new armour as she left the room, deciding to go look for Jon; she needed to make Gendry’s probability of survival as high as possible, yet respecting his wish to march to King’s Landing.

Arya had to look for Jon for quite a while, as when she finally found him the morning sun was colouring the sky pale blue and lilac. Jon was standing on the battlements, leaning over and looking over to the forest, not hearing Arya walk to him.

Arya finally stood still, standing close enough to him for Jon to notice her out of the corner of his eye and even if he tried to mask it, Arya saw him jump the slightest, making the corner of her mouth curl.

“You ready for today?” Jon started, not looking at his little sister.

“Have to. But I do have a question.” Arya was now looking at Jon, waiting for him to look back to her, and then continued. “Do you already know where Gendry is positioned in the battle?”

The look on Jon’s face was surprised, but he answered after thinking about it for a bit. “He’ll be helping people get out of King’s Landing. He knows the streets and is a strong fighter. Said he had some gold cloaks to kill.”

Arya swore to herself; of course the stupid bull-head was going where the fighting was thickest, of course he would be running the streets again. He never knew how to stay back, unless it was making Arya not throw herself to bigger, stronger enemies.

“Then I’d like to request you not to send him there.”

“He’s the only blacksmith who knows the area, and he could salvage weapons and help people.”

“Still, he’s stubborn and would just get himself killed.”

Jon was quiet after that, looking at Arya, who had a crinkle between her dark brows, her hand tightly gripped around her belt, around where Needle was supposed to be.

“I wouldn’t underestimate him. Gendry is one of the strongest fighters, and knows what he is doing.”

Silence, after that.

“But I guess you never ask anything, so this must be important. I’ll ask him to stay outside the walls, for his skills are needed there. But if he is as stubborn as you say, I can’t drag him back from the collar like a kid is he charges to the city. Don’t have time for that.” Jon eventually said. It wasn’t a promise, but at least Arya knew she did what she could.

“Thank you.” Arya finally said, looking back to the forest.

“But seriously, don’t go underestimating him. He’s quite good with his hammer, if you’ve ever seen him in action. ” _Oh, I’ve seen his hammer in action alright_ , Arya thought, nodding to Jon’s words with a slight chuckle.

“I hope you’re right about that.”

“But what about you? You still sure you want to go in with the small force? To the Red Keep?” Jon then asked, turning to see his sister better.

“I am. I have unfinished business, and I’m more valuable there than in the bigger battles. Some us can move without alerting half the north, you know.” Arya took a playful dig at Jon, who shook his head, small smile forming on his mouth.

“Alright. But you don’t have to, you know that right?” Arya nodded at that, before they exchanged few final words and Arya headed back towards her bedchambers.

 

When Arya entered, Gendry was already awake, dressing himself with his back turned to Arya, looking out of the window. Arya could see he was nervous, for his shoulders were tense, and his legs restless as he moved his weight from one to another.

Arya felt like it was kind of the perfect moment to break it off – during the march, they would hardly see each other, and by the time they got to King’s Landing, he would have already forgotten about her.

So when Gendry turned and headed to the door where Arya was standing, Arya let him walk right past her as she hid behind a corner.

I have time to end this, Arya thought. Arya knew, it was a lie, and she was just protecting herself like a coward. Yet, she could just listen to his bootsteps getting farther and farther away.

 

Arya slid to her chamber, seeing the bed made and on top of it, Needle. Arya walked closer to it and saw that when she had been away, Gendry had sharpened and polished it.

Arya shook her head, partly in sadness, partly in amusement. When other men courted ladies with flowers and poems promising love and castles, Gendry took care of her weapons without her having to ask. But things like that made it that harder to let go and let him find a happy life without her.

Arya dressed herself in the new top Sansa had given her, then strapping the Catspaw-dagger from Bran, Needle from Jon to her waist and finally strapped the spear from Gendry to her back. All her clothes and things fit into a small back she swung over her shoulder and to her back.

Arya walked down to the courtyard and then towards where Jon was gathering soldiers, giving them any last minute information the needed to know. Arya walked past his brother, and walked to the stables, getting a deep black stallion she knew out of it’s stall. Arya was quick to get the horse ready and hopped to it’s back as soon as she got outside the stables. She had already told Jon she would be riding in the front, so she could scout the area and inform of any issues along the way; it was also an easy way to escape the goodbyes and sentimentalities – Arya had to harden herself for the battle to come.

So without saying anything to Sansa, or Gendry, or anyone, she rode out of the back gate of Winterfell, perhaps for the last time ever. As the horse trotted on the uneven road, the girl disappeared into the forest that even the morning sun couldn’t lit up.


	5. Weapon

_A forest, then a clearing. Could be danger, but Cersei wouldn’t send her armies this far up north._

Arya’s grey pupils were scouting the small map in her hands as she was sitting in the saddle of her horse that was drinking from the small stream heading down the hill. Arya had ben riding in front of the marching army for almost two days now, just going back once to tell Jon to tell him there was no danger ahead, but there was great hunting grounds ahead. Otherwise, she was alone. She rode tirelessly, just slept for an hour or two and continued, her mind constantly going through the list, again and again and again.

_Cersei Lannister_

_The Mountain_

There could be no hesitation, no feelings. She was a knife, she was a weapon.

She was not a maiden to court, not a knight wanting to go back to her family.

She was a weapon, who punished those who needed it and sent them to the Many-Faced God.

_But even the best weapons sometimes break._

Maybe that was what was waiting for her; a weapon broken in the heat of battle, trying to do what it was made to do.

 

The night was already setting on the second day, when Arya heard a single horse following her and there were no words; it meant it wasn’t a scout sent to fetch her for something, nor was the march catching up to her. Arya’s hand landed on Needle’s pommel as she turned her head, only to see the Hound on his black horse riding up to her. Arya let her hand relax and let the horse go a bit slower as the Hound rode beside her.

For a long time, there were no words spoken. They had found a silence that felt comfortable, but of course Clegane had to mess it up.

“How come you’re riding alone? Thought you wouldn’t leave your brothers now that you got your whiny ass to them.”

“Don’t need ‘em. I have to finish the list.”

There was a long silence after.

“I’m still on it, huh?” There was dry humour on Clegane’s voice, both of their eyes fixed forward.

“Yes.” Arya lied, her tone nor face not giving any clues of it.  

“How come you had your second opportunity to get rid of me and yet here I am and you’re still rambling on about your dumb list, girl?”

“There won’t be a third time.”

“Who have you even killed on that? Last time I heard, you had no part in those folks’ deaths. Expect that sword-thief, whoever the shit he was.”

“Polliver. And Rorge, and Walder Frey, and Meryn Trant.”

“Huh. Walder Frey? Thought Jon was named for avenging your family.”

“It doesn’t matter. What matter is that he is out of the list.” Arya’s voice was cold, as she did not want to talk any more. Clegane, thankfully, understood that and fell silent for the rest of the journey.

Sike.

“You and the blacksmith boy, huh?” Clegane asked, and Arya knew he would have a shit-eating grin if he would ever smile.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t play stupid with me, girl. What does he have, a magical cock for you to go after him?” Arya’s eyes snapped to the Hound and she knew that made him enjoy the situation even more.

“How’d you know about any of that?”

“You think I didn’t notice him at the feast sneaking out with ya? Or whining and asking where you are when the march started?”

“He is just stupid like that.”

“Aye, and you are stupider for pining after him.”

“Am not.” Arya’s voice was sharp and annoyed and soon she pushed her heels into the horse’s sides as it started to gallop faster. Clegane didn’t follow. 

 

* * *

 

 

The rain came down from the skies the third day of the march. Arya was riding closer to the main army, her clothes clinging to her skin and water getting into her eyes. Times like that, she felt so quite lovely human. She was cold and her skin was like ice to the touch and she kept wishing Gendry was there to warm her up; his arms around her, his skin against hers. Gendry always seemed to be warm; maybe it was the sun of King’s Landing that had set itself under his skin or maybe it was the fire in the forge keeping his arms warm and comforting, and in moments like those, Arya really felt like she could feel the layer of ice formed in the North and Braavos started to melt away.

But yet, Arya kept telling herself she couldn’t go back, she had to do this alone, she couldn’t string Gendry alone any longer.

Arya hardly had time to ride forward, trying to escape the thoughts of Gendry and his warmth, when a scout, boy barely four and ten, was sent to fetch her to her brother, who had stopped the march so people could reset and wait out the rain for a few hours.

So cowardice is what Arya accused herself of when she walked on Jon’s side, as he talked strategy, once again and didn’t even realize Arya was making their way to the makeshift forge. Arya could hear the steel singing from far away, and as Jon seemed to realize where they were, he muttered something about the arrowheads that should’ve been delivered already.

Arya stepped into the small forge that was only covered with cured leathers as a roof, the wind taking hold of the fires and making them dance wildly. Arya didn’t need to look for long, as she saw strong back muscles moving under a wet shirt, as Gendry hammered an arrowhead to its shape. Arya made sure Jon was not looking, as she walked towards Gendry, not daring to touch him.

Gendry seemed to feel Arya’s eyes on him, as he turned and his face light up as his blue eyes landed on Arya, even if he tried his best to keep his face straight and serious.

“That arrowhead is crooked. It won’t fly straight.” Arya immediately commented, tossing Gendry an arrowhead from the pile.

“Ain’t my work.”

“Fix it anyway.”

Gendry looked Arya under his brow, but then turned and tossed the arrowhead he was previously working on to the side. Two well-placed blows of the hammer made sure the arrowhead was set straight, Arya’s voice almost drowned out by the strong blows.

“How has everything been?”

Gendry was inspecting the arrowhead in his hand before putting it back into a pile, then turning to Arya, trying to get some of the dirt off his hands by getting a semi-clean rag from the side, looking at it and with the lightness of a rainy morning Arya saw that Gendry’s ears were getting a bit of a red tint.

“Slow without you here. Heard you were scouting.”

“You asked someone?”

“… Yeah, Jon Snow when he came to tell me I need to stay back when we get to King’s Landing.”

Arya may have felt relief, but she sure as all seven hells wasn’t showing it to Gendry.

“Why?”

“He said they need my skills out there. But I bet the reason is because he thinks I should be protected for … Family relations.” Gendry paused, looking around worried – no wonder, the poor lad had had enough people after him for his father’s name.

“Oh. Well, you’ll have a higher chance of survival.”

“The people I can’t help getting out of the city won’t.”

“You are more important than them.” Arya’s words made Gendry look up properly now, surprised by her straightforwardness or the fact alone that Arya thought of him like that. Gendry looked like he wanted to get closer, to hold Arya who was still dripping rain water all over the ground and her hair almost black with the water, yet he did not dare to do so and just took a step closer, yet his eyes betrayed him, showing everything he felt.

“Did you want something?” Gendry finally got his voice back, his eyes following someone behind Arya – Arya saw Jon from the corner of her eye and then looked back to Gendry, not giving him more than a faint smile.

“No, I was just looking for the smith who sharpened Needle for me before we left. You think he’s here? The one with the bullhead-helmet?” Arya asked, eyes twinkling with mischief. Gendry furrowed his brows but was surprisingly quick to catch on.

“I think he is eating right now, but I’ll be sure to tell him you said thanks, milady.” The tone of Gendry’s voice was a bit too telling, which made Arya roll her eyes and then turn on her heel to face Jon, who had just arrived behind her, Arya faking surprise as she saw him.

“Jon? You ready here? I want to go get a spare change of clothes.”

With that, Jon and Arya exited the tiny forge, Arya shivering as the unforgiving winds ripped her loose shirt and made the cold seep into her bones. Arya felt like she shouldn’t complain, though – as she was escorted to the other side of the camp to where everyone in the inner circle slept and she got out of the tent she would have shared with Bran if she would have slept with the army, wearing warm and dry clothes when the men outside shivered in cold rain.

Arya was trying to get some of the extra moisture off of her hair as she talked with Jon, trying to settle whether North could become independent under the rule of Daenereys Stormborn, Bran chimed in.

Even before Bran had gotten the first vowel out of his mouth, Arya felt herself grow uncomfortable – she had seen Bran go somewhere else when she was coming into the inner circle campsite.

“You could be walking the footsteps of Robb Stark. He marched these fields and loved in the time of war.”

Immediately, the air was tense and pregnant as Jon and Arya stared down to Bran, who just looked on as if he had just started the discussion what kind of meat should be used in brown stew primarily.

Arya looked up to Jon, who looked uncomfortable, coughing to the back of his hand.

 _Of course, he would be thinking Daenerys,_ Arya thought to herself, but her stomach was in twists and knots.

Loving in the time of war was never good. Arya had learned that quite well, even if she had avenged Robb’s and her mother’s untimely slaughter, along with the assassination of lady Talisa and her unborn child; Arya couldn’t help but think how differently things would have gone, if Robb had never married Talisa. Arya would be an aunt to a child of Stark and a Frey, maybe there wouldn’t even be a war to fight right now.

Still, Bran’s words seemed like a warning; what would happen if Arya continued on the path of eing with Gendry, seeking him out and letting her feelings take the hold of her? Arya felt anxiety bubble in her stomach, as she excused herself quickly to her own bedroll; she needed to sleep, all the riding and just a few short naps in-between were really making her not think clearly; she was supposed to be cold, weapon, made of steel and ice and hate and yet she lingered on the wishful thinking of blue eyes and blood, feeling alive, with her heart hammering in her chest whenever she saw Gendry. It was unacceptable. She needed to end it, as soon as possible, make it impossible for him to forgive her so her passing would be easier and he would meet Arya with anger in his eyes instead of the gentle, shy warmth that made Arya feel like she was a girl again, made her stomach flutter and wake up the lingering hope for life and future she had already given away.

And with those thoughts, Arya felt her mind slip into unconsciousness, that took her into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> game of thrones is really ending tonight and this is my coping mechanism


End file.
